


Another Lonely Day

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2018-10-27 12:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10809423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: It’s a constant uphill battle after the war, and Harry’s confusion  over  his own actions and desires is only making things worse. And here  he  is, alone again.





	Another Lonely Day

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** When I started doing research on this location, I couldn’t resist! The lyrics are provided by Ben Harper, who was playing at Glastonbury in June of 1998. My beta is awesome and thorough.

  
Author's notes: Written for the HP-spring-fling fic exchange  


* * *

Harry Potter woke up sore and disoriented. The sunlight that was leaking in through the windows of Gryffindor Tower was quickly fading into evening, and Harry was shocked that he had slept away the day and still felt exhausted. Certainly it was explainable though- he had defeated a dark wizard not 24 hours ago- but he felt guilty not being up and around to help with the cleanup. Too many people had died; too many people he loved, for him to just be sleeping all day.  
  
Harry heard a loud snore next to him, and a weight lifted slightly off of his shoulders. Ron’s obnoxious breathing was like music to his ears. His best friend had lived, relatively unscathed, through the most frightening year of their young lives. Now, he slept five feet away from Harry, safe and whole. He sat up, his body practically creaking with stiffness, and pulled aside the curtains on the four poster bed he had claimed for the night. He looked over to see Hermione sitting up on an enlarged bed next to Ron’s still sleeping form. She was staring off into nothing, obviously deep in thought. As Harry moved to get out of the bed, Hermione jumped and looked over at him.  
  
“Everything alright?” Harry asked, at seeing her eyes wet.  
  
“More than I thought it would ever be…”  
  
“But?” Harry said, desperate to maintain the connection with his best mates after all they had been through together.  
  
“I’m just trying to formulate the best way to…to…” Hermione’s voice began to falter. “To bring mum and dad back and explain to them what I did.” She finished, tears falling down her cheeks.  
  
In his sleep, Ron reached up and wrapped his arms around Hermione’s waist. She looked down and smiled lightly through her tears. Ron began to wake, and Harry turned away, thinking it was better to give them their privacy. “You okay, ‘Mione?”  
  
Harry looked out of the high window in the tower that held a view of the quidditch pitch and gasped. Ron and Hermione jumped out of bed and ran next to him, their hands already on their wands. Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy were being dragged off of The Hogwart’s grounds by wizards and witches in long black robes. They had their wands trained to the Malfoy’s necks and a security detail circling them. Harry felt sick to his stomach. A large, angry wizard had pulled at Narcissa’s disheveled hair and sneered, causing Lucius and Draco to move towards him. Harry could almost feel the blow when another large guard punched Draco in the stomach and he fell to his knees with his head bowed.  
  
Narcissa let out a piercing cry and fell toward her son, trying to check for damage, but Harry couldn’t look any longer to find out if Malfoy had been hurt. He turned away with his fists clenched and tried to will the bile in his stomach back down where it belonged. When he looked back out the window, the group disapparated and Harry slammed his fist on the ancient wooden windowsill.  
  
“Good riddance I say,” Ron spat at the ground near their feet. Hermione looked as though she were about to admonish him, but bit her tongue.  
  
“You guys don’t understand!” Harry shouted, already pacing the small stone floor of the Sixth Year dormitory. “Fuck!”  
  
When Harry yelled, a few knick knacks fell away from the nearest dresser and floor vibrated. Ron reached out a calming hand and clasped Harry firmly on the shoulder. Hermione did a quick ‘reparo’ spell before turning concerned brown eyes to Harry. “Then tell us, so we can understand.” She said softly.  
  
“If it weren’t for Narcissa Malfoy, I’d be dead,” Harry said gravely. Ron nearly choked on his own words and Hermione just put her hand up to her mouth.  
  
Harry spent the next hour explaining what had happened when he had walked to his death in the forest, including Narcissa’s role. Ron stood stoically, his fists clenched and his eyes red as Harry described the ghosts that followed him and what happened when he came back. He couldn’t talk about Dumbledore and the station…not yet. By the end, Hermione had tears in her eyes and Ron was pacing angrily.  
  
“And here they are, bloody dragging the woman away! I don’t care one bloody bit about Father and The Ferret, but she…she deserves…this isn’t right!” Ron yelled, coursing with emotion. The death of his brother, of their friends, and then of The Dark Lord, had caused Ron’s emotions to run away from him even more than usual. Harry tried to ignore the spike of anger that came up when Ron said Malfoy didn’t matter, because he was right and Harry was being a foolish sot.  
  
“Harry, we’ll find someone. The Ministry has to be all over Hogwarts right now. And after everything you’ve done, everything we’ve done…well…they have to listen to us,” Hermione said, looking pensive. She maintained her thoughtful demeanor even as she led Ron and Harry down to The Kitchens to find something to eat. Ron ate in a brooding silence, never letting go of Hermione’s hand, and Harry practically inhaled his food, even if it all seemed tasteless.  
  
()()()()()()()()  
  
Sleeping all day meant that Harry couldn’t fall asleep that night when everyone else found their way back to their beds. The Hogwarts Professors had done their best to keep everyone fed and housed, as no one was quite ready to leave the castle yet. Molly Weasley could scarcely move, and the entire Weasley Clan stayed rooted to the site until they could all find their bearings together. Dean and Seamus left Hogwarts after resting, desperate to find their families and make sure everyone was okay, and Neville escorted Luna back to her father and didn’t return to the castle, sending Hannah Abbott a letter stating he was going to stay behind and make sure Luna was faring well.  
  
But there were still students, orphans, those numb with grief, and even ones whose homes were obliterated that needed shelter in the aftermath of the storm. So the castle remained opened, to the injured and the lost like a triage on the high Scottish cliff. Harry wandered the halls, stepping over rubbish and rocks, and finding pieces of valuables and innocuous items dotting the destruction. The bodies had been cleared away, but Harry could still see stains where the blood had not yet been removed. He tried not to imagine whose blood it was, but he always saw Remus, Tonks, Fred, and Colin lying above every dried pool.  
  
When Harry did arrive at the hall where Fred fell, Ron was already sitting there, throwing rocks against the wall and causing them to shatter on the brick. Harry sat down next to him, unsure of what to say. Finally Ron spoke, a torrent of things Fred used to say and do, from the clever to the cruel, and had them both smiling through their tears. When Hermione finally tracked them down, she looked relieved to see Ron grin sheepishly at her, even with his red rimmed eyes.  
  
“I’ve been looking everywhere,” Hermione said, sitting down gingerly next to Ron on a rock. “I was worried.”  
  
“Just can’t face them yet…just can’t see her looking so blank and defeated,” Ron said, leaning against Hermione. Harry pressed up against the other side and the three of them sat there for a few moments, catching their breath. It seemed like every other minute was spent trying to find footing in the rubble of a war.  
  
“I talked to Percy about the Ministry’s policies on war criminals,” Hermione said carefully into the silence. Harry and Ron both perked their heads up. “He said they are forming an interim government, and until then, all known supporters of Voldemort are being held. They will have a trial when the new and temporary administration can be put into place.”  
  
“How long?” Harry croaked, trying not to picture Narcissa being mistreated. When he banished those images out of his head, however, he only saw Malfoy, looking as scared as he did in the feindfyre and crouching in the corner of a cell at Azkaban.  
  
“Oh gods, the dementors are gone, right?” Ron said, filling Harry with another pang of guilt and horror.  
  
“Yes, they are. I believe we are going to need to speak with Kingsley. Percy said it is looking like he is going to be taking up the reins,” Hermione answered, standing up and pulling Ron up with her.  
  
Harry felt relief that a friend and Order member would be on control. He had a little hope that he could help the Malfoys after all. He slept more easily that night, until nightmares invaded his dreams and he was forced from his bed with an image of Draco being hit in the stomach playing over and over again. He wasn’t even fighting back; he looked just as numb and lost as everyone in the castle seemed to. The image worried and frightened Harry more than he was ready to admit.  
  
  
 _Yes indeed I'm alone again  
and here comes emptiness crashing in  
it's either love or hate  
I can't find in between  
cause I've been with witches  
and I have been with a queen_  
  
(((((((((())))))))))  
  
Late May 1997  
  
  
Harry was nervous about visiting Shell Cottage again, but he knew it would be a disservice to Dobby not to visit his grave. Harry wasn’t about to start hiding from painful memories, it seemed selfish after all Dobby had done. So when Mrs. Weasley informed them they would be having a nice dinner at Bill and Fleur’s, Harry happily agreed to come along.  
  
Before he even set foot inside of the house, he walked over to the grassy area near the beach where he had buried the heroic little elf. As he knelt down and put his hand on the modest grave marker, she saw shadows forming behind him. He looked back to see every single one of The Weasleys, plus Hermione and Fleur, standing there in quiet deference. George of course had a far off look on his face, but that fact that he was even there was a big enough feat at the moment. Harry accepted Mrs. Weasley’s outstretched arms gratefully, marveling at how much peace was being restored to him in such a short amount of time.  
  
There was much less peace inside the cottage. Fleur was obviously cross, and the tension wafted off of her and Bill in a way that even Ron could pick up on. Everyone looked at their plates, shifted in their chairs, and only really made conversation about the weather or their jobs. Charlie tried to break the tension by talking about when he planned on heading back to Romania, but that only resulted in Mrs. Weasley beginning to cry over him leaving so soon. Percy attempted to talk politics, but that only resulted in everyone but Arthur’s eyes glazing over.  
  
Harry had been staying with the Weasleys since the end of the war. That suited everyone just fine, since the family had become insular and a little clingy. They wanted all of their loved ones within sight at all times, and that included Harry. Hermione was even spending most days cloistered inside or sprawled outside along the shores of the pond. Everything was moving in slow motion, and everyone was holding on to each other for dear life. Despite the fact that he and Ginny hadn’t really moved forward in their relationship, she still stuck by him, taking her place along that invisible and unbreakable chain the Weasleys had formed in the face of tragedy.  
  
Yet, despite the closeness, Fleur still appeared like she was about ready to explode. The innocuous chatter went on despite the heightening color or her rage and her deadly looks at Bill.  
  
“Minerva has decided to put together a team to restore Hogwarts,” Mrs. Weasley said, with Mr. Weasleys making an appreciative noise from behind a mouth full of potatoes. “There are general laborers of course, but she is also in need of magical architects and restoration professionals. She’s having a hard time finding good references.”  
  
“I can do zat!” Fleur suddenly piped up. Bill shot her a quelling look that caused her to slam her utensils onto her plate. “I am tired of being trapped in zis house when there is work to be done!”  
  
“Fleur,” Bill moaned, putting his head in his hands. “I can’t stand the thought…I can’t…please don’t go from my sight right now. I can’t keep you safe if I can’t see you.”  
  
Harry was startled at the turn that dinner had taken. He looked over to see tears running down Ginny’s face, and he held out his arm so she could lean against him. Fleur was standing beside her chair, a rebellious look in her eyes and her own fresh tears cascading down her porcelain skin. “I’m not going to be hurt, William. You need to understand zat.”  
  
“Logically I do…but I’m so scared.” He sighed, his voice sounding almost meek.  
  
“We all are, son,” Arthur piped up, gazing around the table solemnly. “But Fleur is a capable young woman who wants to help repair our world,” He finished gently.  
  
Harry was floored at seeing Bill, powerful and charming Bill, fall to pieces so easily. He excused himself from the table as Fleur recounted her education in magical artifacts and took his wine onto the front porch, hoping the ocean may drown out his thoughts. He had felt like a part of the Weasley family, but in the same moment starkly alone. He had no one to cling to with such desperation. Sure Ron and Hermione were more important to him than anything, but that look that Bill had on his face, it made Harry feel oddly empty. He sat on a step and waited for the feeling to pass.  
  
“I see I am late for dinner again,” Kingsley Shackelbolt suddenly stood in front of Harry, a dish covered in cheesecloth in his large hand. “But this time I thought ahead, and brought some Fortescue’s Cheesecake for dessert.” Kingsley winked and sat next to Harry on the step.  
  
“Well then I’m sure you’ll get a warm welcome, Minister,” Harry said with a smirk. He and Kingsley had fallen into an easy sort of friendship. In the few weeks since the war ended, had been surprised at how comfortable he was around Kinsley.  
  
“Actually, Harry, I take my oath next week,” Kingsley said solemnly.  
  
Suddenly, Harry was invaded with thoughts of The Malfoys, of what would happen to them. For days he’d been plagued with the task of getting Narcissa a trial…of getting someone to listen to him. That image of Malfoy, broken and on his knees burned behind his eyes whenever he had a moment’s peace. Lying in wait at the Weasley’s had been a good distraction, but his visits with Kingsley always shot him back to reality. Harry turned to asked Kingsley the question that was lingering on his lips.  
  
“Narcissa’s trial will be the first thing I do once I regroup the Wizengamot,” Kingsley said, holding up his hand. “I’m not sure what can be done with Lucius, but we’ll see that Narcissa is given when she deserves.”  
  
 _What about Malfoy?_ “Thank you, King.” Harry said, fighting the urge to shake his head vigorously to rid himself of unbidden thoughts. “So cheesecake you say?”  
  
Harry followed Kingsley back into the cottage, and saw that the situation with Bill and Fleur had eased. Both of them smiled, and the family was just sitting around and talking quietly. The new arrivals were greeted with such raucous good cheer, that Harry knew the Elf Wine had done its job. Ron eyed the cheesecake with a lustful look, and Harry burst out in a fit of laughter. He couldn’t forget the voice in the back of his head, but he was damn good at drowning it out.  
  
 _it wouldn't have worked out any way  
so now it's just another lonely day  
further along we just may  
but for now it's just another lonely day_  
  
(((((((((((())))))))))))))0  
  
“I understand your frustration, Harry, but I promise you I’m trying,” Kingsley said very carefully.  
  
“Why is it so bloody hard to find someone?” Harry shouted, pacing.  
  
He was suddenly ashamed of himself for shouting at Kingsley, and foolish at throwing a tantrum in the New Minister of Magic’s office no less. He had come there with the intent of asking Kingsley for an update on Narcissa, but at Kingsley’s sullen expression, he had just lost it. Harry had spent so much time feeling responsible for her fate after she held his life in his hands and spared him, that Kingsley’s one negative look felt like a crushing blow to the walls he had built.  
  
“The prison system is a mess right now. With no real leadership after Voldemort fell, the prisoners were sent to all ends of Europe with no real authority watching over the guards or the paperwork,” Kingsley answered gravely.  
  
Harry’s chest tightened. He had made it his personal mission to help Narcissa, and the stink of failure was threatening to consume him. “Are you even close?”  
  
“I found the paperwork that processed her; I just don’t know where she’s at now.” Kingsley said, sighing and rubbing his temples. “I’m actually trying to get all the war criminals in one place. If the guards can respect my position, I should have her in my sights by the end of the week.”  
  
Harry arrived back at the burrow and tore his robe off, cursing the heat…and everything else for that matter. When he looked up, Ron and Hermione were on the sofa. They were not snogging, which surprised Harry a bit, but instead they looked at him intently. Harry began to feel small under their knowing gazes  
  
“Harry what is this really about?” Hermione asked. She really didn’t play games, did she?  
  
“I told you, I want to help Narcissa!” Harry said defensively.  
  
“We get it, mate. Trust me, I would help you if there’s anything I could do. “ Ron said, looking up at him in sympathy. “But you’re taking this awful personal.”  
  
“Harry, is there more to this?” Hermione asked gently.  
  
Before Harry’s walls could stop them, every image he’d been hiding of Draco came up in his mind’s eye: Draco crying in the bathroom, Draco lying bloody on the ground, Draco lowering his wand with a shaky hand, Draco shaking his head at Bellatrix, and Draco being punched in the stomach and falling to his knees. Harry just looked up at Ron and Hermione and answered their question with a half truth. “I feel guilty. She gave me so much. She deserves my help.”  
  
“The guilt is eating you alive, love,” Hermione said, walking up to him and putting her head on his shoulder. Ron nodded and went to the other side of him.  
  
“You need some rest. And you need to not carry so much on your shoulders. This last year, you gave too much of yourself, and now I want to see you relax,” Ron said, patting Harry on the back.  
  
Harry could only nod in agreement, swallowing the lump in his throat. He knew he wasn’t going to rest until he found Narcissa. And then…well…there was Draco to consider. If he ever let himself consider the other wizard at all.  
  
(((()))))()()()()()()  
  
A stroke of luck came the very next day, when Kingsley’s regal white owl swooped in and delivered Harry a letter with the official ministry seal. He opened it anxiously, and was out without even letting anyone at The Burrow know where he was going. He was at the Ministry apparation point before the wax seal of the letter had even cooled.  
  
“Harry!” Kingsley greeted him by the main doors. Was he that predictable?  
  
“Is she okay?” Harry asked anxiously. Kingsley nodded.  
  
“She’s in an interrogation room right now. I thought maybe you’d like to speak to her before we work out the details of her trail,” Kingsley said, not waiting for Harry to agree before he was being led down to the lower level.  
  
Harry peeked through the window and a wave of relief swept over him. Narcissa looked thin, and her face was even paler without the benefit of glamour charms, but she was alive and unscathed. She drank her tea with her characteristic regal demeanor, her posture remained straight, and her expression aloof. He was so relieved that she was okay, that he forgot to school his features before he entered the room. When Narcissa met his eyes, she looked momentarily taken aback before her face became blank once more.  
  
  
“Mr. Potter, I must say you’re the last person I expected to see,” Narcissa said, quirking an eyebrow at him. Harry desperately tried not to picture Draco’s similar gesture.  
  
“I just…I want to…are you okay?” Harry stumbled, suddenly feeling like he didn’t just defeat a dark wizard, but was still a scared little boy.  
  
“Yes, Harry, I’m alright. Thank you for asking,” Narcissa said, her cold voice softening.  
  
Harry looked up and saw that she was holding her hands tightly in front of her, her striking gray eyes were watery as they met his. Harry suddenly felt compelled to comfort her, like that was what he should have been doing the entire time. He sat down in the chair in front of her, reaching out and taking one of her hands.  
  
“I’m going to get you out of this,” Harry whispered. “We’ll get you a trial, and I will speak. You don’t deserve to be in prison.”  
  
Narcissa nodded, and took another drink of her tea. She sighed a few times to compose herself, and then looked back up to Harry. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”  
  
“Yes I did! You saved me! You lied to Him for me!” Harry said, his voice getting unnaturally high.  
  
“That was for Draco as well, though,” Narcissa said, turning her head away. “And now it’s for nothing.”  
  
Harry felt panic began to rise. Was Draco dead? Was he hurt? What in the world had happened! “What do you mean?” Harry tried to ask calmly.  
  
“I have no idea where my son is.” She whispered.  
  
“He’s not with you?” Harry asked, not bothering to disguise his anxiety.  
  
“They took him away to a working group, along with the younger prisoners. There have been no letters and no word,” She said, her cup shaking. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.  
  
“Mr. Potter, The Minister says they have to get the trial started,” A young auror came in, looking wide eyed at Harry and his scar, doing a double take as he saw how closely Harry was sitting to Narcissa.  
  
Harry reluctantly stood up, but not before Narcissa could grab his wrist firmly. She kept her head down and her lips drawn tightly, but her hand was shaking around Harry. “I know I’ve no right to ask,” she started.  
  
“Ask anything,” Harry answered quickly, casting a sideways glance at the young auror.  
  
“Find him, please!”  
  
Harry nodded resolutely to her and rushed out of the room. He managed to get to a deserted hallway before he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and began slamming his fist against the hard, stone wall. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He had to find Draco now, he had no choice. But finding Draco meant he might see Draco, and Harry couldn’t handle facing the other wizard right now. He wasn’t ready to explain to himself why that might be. The thought that Draco could be much worse off than he found Narcissa made Harry continue to pound on the wall until his fist ached and he was breathless.  
  
(((((((()))))))))))  
  
Harry tiptoed through Andromeda Tonks’ shiny-floored hallway, worried he would slip and fall as he held little Teddy Lupin against his chest. It didn’t help that the active infant was squirming and craning his neck as though trying to see the sights that the long corridor beheld. Harry finally made it to the back door and into the softness of the garden and sighed in relief. He delicately toed off his socks and sat in the grass with his godson sitting on his lap.  
  
He had made it a point to visit Andromeda a few times since he defeated Voldemort, Remus and Tonks’ memorials had only happened two weeks prior, and Harry felt incredibly protective of his godson, as well as his godson’s only guardian. When Harry brought Narcissa to Andromeda’s majestic, if small, home in the country, he had been heartened at the witch’s unguarded expression of warmth and tenderness when she first laid eyes on Teddy. Harry kept himself unobtrusive in a corner of the room as a tentative understanding was met while the two witches cooed over the new child.  
  
He gazed nervously up at Andromeda’s bedroom window, where he could see shadows moving. He didn’t near any shouting or see any curses flying, so he assumed everything was going alright. After Narcissa Malfoy’s trial, she was released, but the backlash that she met immediately upon leaving the courthouse was so violent and vitriolic, that it was decided very quickly Narcissa must go into hiding. Much to Harry’s surprise, Andromeda sent Harry a patronus from her vantage point across the street and he apparated Mrs. Malfoy to the Tonks’ home as fast as he could.  
  
It turned out that Andromeda had been following her sister’s trial, but didn’t want to go inside the Ministry and deal with the crowds with her tiny grandson on tow. However, she saw what Harry had said, and saw the threat that faced her estranged sister, and decided the only course of action was to see her last remaining family member safe. By the end of the day, Narcissa and Andromeda had found a place in Bulgaria with a distant and wealthy Black cousin, and were hurriedly packing for the forced exile.  
  
Harry started, his hand hovering above his wand and the little boy tucked safely against his chest, when he heard the familiar sound of apparition. He was shocked to see Madame Malkin stride purposefully into the home, followed closely by a harried looking woman holding a pair of bright green shears and a goblin from Gringott’s. Not wanting to bother them, Harry lay Teddy down on the grass and began to blow on his stomach. The infant’s cries of joy were an excellent way to mask his confusion.  
  
Soon though, Teddy began to chew on his fist, and Harry knew it was time for dinner. His own stomach was growling as loudly as Teddy’s hungry whimpers. Harry did not want to disturb what could either be a tenuous truce or a borderline argument just because they were hungry, so he began to search Andromeda’s kitchen for one of Teddy’s bottles. Finally, he gave up, and he summoned the bottles, the formula, and even heated up the water with his wand. By the time Harry could hear the clicking of heels on the wooden steps in the foyer, Teddy was already eased in a satisfied sleep and Harry was finishing off the last bits of a turkey sandwich.  
  
“Do you mind if I hold him?” Narcissa’s sharp, strong voice came floating in through the kitchen doorway ahead of her.  
  
“Not at all,” Andromeda said, her own voice carrying the same strength, but a little more warm and melodic.  
  
Harry got up and handed the baby to his great aunt with his fingers to his lips. The first genuine smile Harry had ever seen on Narcissa Malfoy cracked slowly across her face. She ran a long, well-manicured finger down the little boy’s small nose. Harry was shocked to see that she was now in fine clothes, the drab prison robes were gone, and her hair was neatly piled on top of her head.  
  
“You know, Draco would never fall asleep in anyone’s arms. You had to put him down and leave him be in order for him to feel safe enough to fall asleep,” Narcissa said, a sad look on her face. “He was born into war…I did this to him.”  
  
A single, crystal tear fell down Narcissa’s flawless cheek and she pulled Teddy into her a little tighter. Andromeda came over and laid a gentle hand on her sister’s shoulder. Harry was grateful that no one was paying any attention to him. The mention of Draco, the look inside a part of him that rarely anyone had seen, had opened up something Harry was trying desperately hard to keep shut.  
  
“I’ll find him, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry whispered. He turned on his heel and left the house before anyone could possibly read his expression.  
  
(((((((((((((_))))))))))))))))))  
  
As a magnificent blue tent was erected in the Weasley’s back yard, Harry was beginning to realize why all the parties, dinners, and get togethers were held at the Burrow. The entire family seemed to delight in playing host, and Molly would shine in the act of preparing perfect meals for the occasions. Molly Weasley was currently working on an entire roast pheasant to commemorate Kingsley Shackelbolt’s official appointment as interim prime minister, as Arthur Weasley put the finishing touches on the tables beneath the tent. The house fairly buzzed with anticipation of another party.  
  
“I know I’m Minister of Magic now, but sometimes all of the attention makes me uncomfortable,” Kingsley said, walking up to Harry and drawing his wand to help Harry unfold all of the chairs.  
  
“I don’t envy you, sir,” Harry said, smirking slightly.  
  
“No, no…I supposed you’ve have enough attention for a lifetime.” The older wizard murmured. “Speaking of which, I did manage to find Draco Malfoy.”  
  
Harry nearly dropped his wand in shock. The tone of the conversation had given him no clues that he was about to get the news he’d been pestering Kingsley for. “Oh really?” Harry said, sounding foolishly nonchalant inside of his own head.  
  
“Indeed,” Kingsley said sarcastically. “He’s in a prison that we had shut down before the war, about 30 miles north of Hogwarts. Apparently the overload of war criminals caused the various guards to open prisons all over the country…without authorization from anyone even giving some semblance of authority.”  
  
“Why was that prison closed?” Harry asked, remembering the vision of Grindewald in his mangled old cell and swallowing roughly.  
  
“The conditions were inhumane,” Kingsley answered, his jaw clenching slightly.  
  
Harry tried to keep his fists from clenching and his face from turning red. Why should he care? Why should some git who gave him hell in his already less than stellar childhood deserve any considering from Harry? And yet there it was, plain as day: Draco’s scared, gray eyes. His moment of vulnerability that changed Harry’s entire view on the blond wizard. Harry couldn’t let him fall. If he did, and didn’t do anything to stop it when he could have, he would not be able to live with himself.  
  
“Can you get him out of there?” Harry whispered.  
  
“I’ve already put the order in. The Ministry’s prisons are already so crowded though. But at least there we can keep an eye on him until we can work something else out,” Kingsley said gently, walking away when he was beckoned into the kitchen.  
  
“What was that about?” Ginny’s voice startled Harry before he could even begin to think about his conversation with Kingsley.  
  
“Oh…umm…well…”  
  
“I know I shouldn’t have been listening, but you were standing out here in the open, and weren’t being very secretive,” Ginny said, backtracking at Harry’s flushed face. “But are you really trying to help Malfoy?”  
  
“Yes.” Harry said, knowing he could never lie to her.  
  
Ginny squinted her eyes and studied Harry’s face for a moment. “Nobility…again.” She said, nodded as though answering her own question.  
  
“It’s, well yes. I mean you know I needed to help Narcissa. That was a sense of duty I couldn’t ignore. But…”  
  
“But why give a fig about Malfoy? I can’t help but ask that myself.” Ginny said. She was being her normal blunt self, but there was a sparkle in her eye that told Harry she wasn’t saying everything she was thinking.  
  
“I don’t know, Gin.” Harry said, sitting heavily in the long grass of The Burrow’s far field. Ginny sat down next to him and picked up long blades of grass, thankfully silent save for her rhythmic breathing.  
  
“Well, if you’re looking for a place to move Malfoy…Fleur is going to be starting her work at Hogwart’s and much to Bill’s dismay, she’s taking on work release prisoners.” Ginny said, grinning.  
  
“Thanks Gin,” Harry said, smiling at her. “You’re brilliant.”  
  
Silence fell on them again as they watched the sun begin to set.  
  
“Why didn’t we ever really get together, after it’s all ended? It’s been nearly a month and a half, but there’s been nothing.” Ginny said. She sounded more like she was trying to solve a personal mystery than she did a heartbroken lover.  
  
“I guess I don’t know much of anything these days,” Harry said sullenly. The truth was, he had been so caught up in the aftermath of the war that he had forgotten to fall back in love with Ginny Weasley. He was embarrassed at how callous he had been to her.  
  
“You do know, Harry. You just don’t want to think about what it might mean,” she whispered, putting a hand over his in the grass. He closed his eyes and reveled in the warmth of her palm.  
  
When he opened his eyes, she removed her hand, stood up, and walked away. Ginny had never been a woman to play games or speak to him in riddles, but he found himself trying to break open her words like a puzzle box. He fell back into the grass and looked up at the blue sky, wondering curiously why every cloud seemed to be shaped like a part of Draco Malfoy’s pointed face.  
  
 _wish there was something  
I could say or do  
I can resist anything  
but temptation from you_  
  
(((((((())))))))  
  
Draco sat very carefully in the corner of his tiny cell. He only went near the door when food was supplied, because the stench and the sounds of painful wails coming from the other inmates was enough to make him want to vomit. It was bad enough having to eat what passed for food in his new home, let alone throwing it all up and shaking from malnourishment. So when he was handed what looked like warm bread and cider, he quickly rushed back to his corner and relished the first good food in weeks.  
  
He had no idea where he was, though he had an idea who his captors were. He was taken away by Ministry thugs nearly twenty four hours after the dark lord had fallen. When they had gotten to the actual Ministry though, it was still in ruins. The men in tattered Auror robes glanced awkwardly at each other for a moment until someone, obviously not The Minister or even a member of the Wizengamot had come pounding down the ruined halls. He had taken one disdainful look at Draco and his family and shook his head.  
  
Before Draco could blink, he had found himself on a dark, windowless train, the smoke from the engines stinging his eyes. He was thrown into a cell and ignored. At first, he had yelled for his mother, screamed her name, demanded to be taken to her, but when his voice had gone from hours of yelling, he finally gave up. There was no chance for him in Voldemort’s world, and there would be no chance for him in the New World either.  
  
Draco was torn from his reverie by the door to his cell banging open for the first time since he was unceremoniously thrown in. A brave man would have darted out of the door the minute it opened, but Draco had never found himself very brave, and now he couldn’t even maintain his pride, so what was the point? He crouched in a corner and waited for a death blow. After all, why would they keep him so long without saying a word to him unless they meant to kill him?  
  
One large man drew his wand and ripped Draco from his cell, pulling his wrist slightly out of joint. His fingers became numb, but all he could focus on was the persistent pull of his silent captor. Draco looked back at the dank cell and thought death would be better than being locked away with no light and no one to talk to, and that thought frightened him more than what lay at the end of the hall.  
  
“Wait! Where are you…” Draco started to panic, to question his nameless guard, when he bit down on his tongue. He wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of having the upper hand on him. The big, hairy guard just grunted.  
  
When the door was opened in front of him, the bright light nearly seared his retinas. He cringed, but didn’t cry out or flinch. He just closed his eyes tightly and waited for the light to adjusting through the pinks and reds of his eyelids. When he could finally open his eyes again, the summer sun felt so warm that he very nearly sighed in relief.  
  
Draco realized suddenly that the sun wasn’t nearly as warm as it should be in June. He had been counting his days on a line of string from his prisoner robes and knew for a fact that it had been six weeks since the demise of The Dark Lord…and the end of his family. For June, the air still held a tinge of briskness that wasn’t characteristic of England.  
  
“Where are we?” he asked quietly. The guard just sneered and didn’t answer.  
  
Without any warning, Draco felt the sickening pull of apparition followed by a sudden drop onto cold, craggy ground. After he finished retching his gruel across the grass, to the cruel laughs of his guard, he looked up and cried out. He was staring at Hogwarts Castle, the last place he expected to be taken. He swallowed thickly, wondering if bringing him back to the scene of his biggest crimes and failures was the clever and cruel torture of whoever was going to decide his fate. Draco was convinced at that point his fate would be death.  
  
“I’ve kept my end of the bargain, the little bratty ponce is your problem now,” The Guard grunted, shoving Draco into the shadows. “I trust that I won’t be losin’ my job over this, since I brought you the boy?”  
  
Draco suddenly felt like an invisible tether had pulled him against his will into the shadows. He tried to follow the stranger into the castle closely enough to see who was holding onto him, but the line never let him get too close. He wanted to say something, he wanted to beg for his life, but he couldn’t find any words in his dry mouth. Finally he was led into a small room and he took a seat at in the chair nearest him when a shockingly elegant and pale hand gestured for him to do so. He clenched his body tightly to keep from shaking.  
  
“You must be near exhaustion. Zis will only take a moment then you may go to your rooms,” The melodic French voice startled Draco and his head shot up.  
  
The former Triwizard Champion from Beauxbatons, Fleur Delacour was standing at the other side of the table, swathed in a light blue robe the color of the sky that Draco hadn’t seen in months. He could not begin to comprehend how someone so shockingly beautiful could hold his fate, and he didn’t know if he wanted to. He continued to gape at her until her formless porcelain features finally took on an ironic grin.  
  
“You’re Fleur Delacour,” Draco mumbled.  
  
“Fleur Weasley actually. My husband will be Bill Weasley,” She answered shortly. Draco inadvertently touched his face in memory of what his father informed him his sixth year mission had caused the eldest Weasley child.  
  
It became clear to Draco that he was to be the victim of some sort of vengeance. He schooled his features, clenched his jaw, and met her icy eyes, only to find them watery and slightly concerned upon further study. His confusion deepened and he decided that he needed to play along.  
  
“I didn’t think vengeance for the wrongs I’ve done would be carried out by someone so striking,” Draco remarked, trying to seem as sinister as he could.  
  
“I doubt you find my type striking,” Fleur said, her voice equally level.  
  
“Touché, Madame,” he murmured.  
  
“Listen, I am here as a restorer of zee more artistic and fine magical items and structures zat were damaged in the war. I was authorized to take some less violent criminals under for work release if they showed skill. I’ve chosen you to start with, as a favor to a very good friend. My husband and his skin have healed, and for the sake of peace and our dear friend, forgiveness is yours.” She breathed out at the end of her small speech, and sat heavily in the chair on the other side of the table.  
  
“I…I thank you,” Draco croaked, unsure of what this woman could possibly mean to do to him.  
  
“Zere is currently work being done for a trail, but until zen we must keep you in custody. Please know your muzzer is safe and in hiding-“  
  
“You’ve seen my mother!”  
  
“No, but I know what has happened to her. I cannot say I know of your fazzer as of yet,” She said, looking at him with genuine concern.  
  
You are confined to zee ‘Ufflepuff Common room and the areas surrounding, including zee kitchen, but you cannot go to zee grounds or zee floo. Zere are security charms. Ze elves will see to what you need for now,” Fleur Weasley said softly. “I’ll see you in zee morning.”  
  
With that, his new ‘guard’ was gone, and Draco had to try hard to remember where the Hufflepuff common room was. When he stood, he found that his legs had gone wobbly from nerves, and maybe the sudden relief of them. Draco didn’t know if he could take much more of having everything he knew being constantly turned on its head.  
  
When he found the round, low door of the Hufflepuff dorm and walked in, he realized just how exhausted he was. He made it up one set up steps to a black and gold room with three beds. At the sight of beds, Draco very nearly cried. His body fell to the nearest one without even bothering to disrobe. He was asleep before he even knew his eyes had closed.  
  
When Draco woke, the bright sun that assaulted his senses was nearly gone and his body ached with the long sleep on a soft surface after weeks of sleeping on stone. He lifted his head and eyed the baths covetously. He used the loo and flushed gratefully, frowning at his nearly blackened skin, caked with filth. He looked at the line of shower stalls along the back wall and could almost feel the warm water on his skin.  
  
Draco shed his shabby robes and seriously considered throwing them on the fire in the centre of the room, but realized he may not have any other clothes to wear. Just as he thought it, a fluffy white towel and what appeared to be a white tee shirt and jeans appeared on a bench nearby, along with a razor and a bar of soap. Draco did weep when the warm water finally touched his skin. He spent as long as he could in the shower until he could stand the assault of the steaming water no more, and decided to wander about the castle in appreciation of his new-found semi freedom.

When he got to the kitchens, his stomach lurched painfully. He had neglected his appetite for so long that he almost forgot what it was like to want food. Draco had spent a month focused only on surviving, but one sniff toward something as simple as beans on toast had sent is senses into a frenzy that almost made him want to…no…he definitely wasn’t going to weep again.

With as much dignity as he could muster, he accepted the proffered plate from the little house elf in the pink, gingham dress and sat carefully at a small table in the corner. Just before he was about to take a bite, a tall glass of pumpkin juice appeared over a yellow napkin on the old wooden table. Finally, a wireless, broadcasting a quidditch game was pushed up onto the table by tiny, knobbly fingers. Draco felt almost normal. He felt almost alive again.

He ate the meal quickly and a little savagely, if he was being honest with himself, but he felt so warm and contented that he didn’t care if there were crumbs on the gray robes that passed for clothes. Draco knew he would never feel safe again, but at least he could feel slightly better than near-death. That was enough. He wasn’t expecting the huge treacle tart that appeared, still steaming in front of him, but he began to cut into it despite his surprise.

“Oh my! It’s him!” The small gingham-clad elf exclaimed. “They said there were to be more peoples, but I never thought he’d…and the kitchens are not perfect!”

“What are you on about elf?” Draco asked, casting her a sideways look and trying, but failing, to be intimidating. She hustled away without giving him a backwards glance.

“Are they really playing quidditch so soon?” A male voice exclaimed, coming down the stone steps. His voice echoed like the iron bars on Draco’s cell. It was Potter. Once Potter found out he was here, he’d be back before he could get on his knees and beg. And Malfoys didn’t beg. He turned his back, hid behind the shelf, and tried to be inconspicuous.

“What brings our gallant hero to Hogwarts? Surely you’re not here to help with the restoration!” Another squeaky voice exclaimed, and if Draco wasn’t panicking for his freedom, he’d certainly be retching.

“Oh gods not here too!” Potter exclaimed. “Listen, I just got a little hungry, that’s all!”

“Leave my master to his late supper,” A croaked, old voice echoed as they made it into the kitchen. Tiny footsteps echoed into the opposite direction.

“Thank you, Kreacher. The Common Room was getting a little too crowded. You’ve met Ron and Hermione, you know what I mean,” Harry started, chuckling. “Yeah. Well now pictured it focused on snogging.”

“Shall I get you some firewhiskey then?” the Elf called Kreacher asked.

“A sense of humor now?” Harry said. “Why not?” And he laughed all the way into the main eating area as Draco tried to blend more fully into the gray stone wall.

“I’ve prepared your favorite dessert, in honor of your coming,” Kreacher said, and the tart dried in Draco’s throat.

“You didn’t have to, I’d have settled with beans.”

“I made those too.”

“Did you also turn on quidditch?” Potter asked, getting far too close to turning the corner.

“No, that was the other elves. Master Malfoy is down here as well.”

Fuck! Draco didn’t know what to do. Once Potter saw him, that delicate strand of freedom he clung to would vanish. The Great Hero would never let the son of a Death Eater see the light of day. Nothing Draco could say would change that, and he knew it. So he just sat there, with his fists clenched and stared at his lap.

“Mal…Malfoy?” Potter said, walking cautiously toward him. Draco didn’t dare look up.

He bit his lip and tried to keep his courage, to save his face somehow, but he couldn’t. “Listen, Potter, I’m here by rights. They let me be here! You can’t send me back there!” He shouted, suddenly jumping to his feet.

Potter had backed up against the wall, lifting his hands, with his eyes wide. He stood just staring at Draco for what felt like an eternity, and Draco thought he would shrink under the other wizard’s dark green gaze. Finally, Potter shook his head.

“You don’t have to go anywhere, Malfoy,” Potter whispered. Draco sat back down, too stunned to leave. When he finally got his bearings again, he didn’t want to leave. He hadn’t heard quidditch or had a good dessert in so long, that he’d even share a meal with Potter and barmy house elves if it meant it would last a little while more.

“You look terrible, Malfoy,” Potter said, and Draco’s head snapped up. Potter was studying him with a pained expression that Draco couldn’t place. It made him distinctly uncomfortable.

“I spent the last month in a cell with no sunlight, no decent nutrition, and very little hygiene. What’s your excuse?” He said, feeling the rage dissipate on his tongue before his words could hold on to any of their normal bite.

“They didn’t let you outside?” Potter asked, his mouth open in disbelief. She sat down and barely registered the plate that was placed in front of him.

“Well I’m not a pet, now am I? I’m just death eater scum,” Draco whispered the last part, sounding much more vulnerable than he had intended.

“No you’re not,” Potter answered a little too quickly. His cheeks flushed. Draco was so confused he had to close his eyes.

“I can’t believe they are already running practice matches for Quidditch,” Potter said after a long and awkward silence.

“I can’t believe you didn’t get any food on me when you spoke,” Draco quipped, feeling his mouth lift up in an almost unfamiliar smirk.

“I would never waste a drop of treacle tart,” Potter smiled, licking the fork. Draco felt something white hot and electric run through his veins that he quickly tamped down without letting it get to his brain. “Would you mind turning it up? As dulcet as your insults are, I would love a few seconds of normalcy.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Draco mutter, thinking the situation he was in was far from normal.

After an hour more, and a few more slices of tart and glasses of pumpkin juice, Potter smiled at Draco and said goodnight, as though they hadn’t tried killing each other once. Draco felt his heart turn over in his chest and decided he shouldn’t have eaten so much food. He deftly turned off the wireless and made to return to his new bed.

The little elf in the pink dress came back and handed him a cloth to wipe his hands. He had the strangest urge to thank her. “I am curious where my old elf got to. I was sure he was working at Hogwarts before he decided to crash my chandelier,” Draco wondered aloud, thankful he hadn’t brought back that reminder around Potter and given the other wizard any reason to send him back to prison.

“Alls the elves were talking about it, Mr. Draco sir!” She trilled. “He died. Harry Potter buried him. Some of us elves went to see his grave outside of the Bill Weasley house in Tinworth.”

The truth hit Draco like a bag full of galleons: Fleur’s good friend, the one she felt needed a favor was Potter. It was Potter who got him out of prison. Draco felt disgustingly pitied. For one brief moment, he thought he might have had a friend, or at least a relationship not borne of darkness, but instead, he was just another little wounded animal for Potter to gallantly swoop in and save. He hated Harry Potter more than ever for saving his life once again.

_but I'd rather walk alone  
than chase you around  
I'd rather fall myself  
than let you drag me down_

Fleur’s wishes for Draco were quite simple: Find the destroyed magical artifacts, replace which charms he could, banish those he couldn’t repair to a collection area, and log everything he did. It was dusty, slightly dangerous work, but Draco was out, he was moving, and he had something to focus his energy on besides Potter and his insufferable damned sense of honor.

Draco was disappointed to find himself thinking of Potter, of the unassuming and seemingly happy man he encountered in the kitchens last night, and how different Potter was than the picture Draco had drawn over the years. The Potter he met last night was funny, and charming…

No, he wasn’t any of those things. Draco shook his head and went back to his work, picking up the vases in front of him and casting diagnostic spells. He wasn’t holding his wand, and the one he had could only do the spells Fleur had approved, but it still felt good to hold a wand. Satisfied there was nothing to be restored in the little gray bauble, he reached for his next item only to be startled by mirthful laughter. He straightened his find and tried to ignore the chill as he recognized Potter’s voice.

“Oi! How was I supposed to know Peeves was going to douse you with a cream filled balloon? I’m not nearly clairvoyant enough; you heard what Trelawney used to say about me!” Potter exclaimed, laughing again.

“Scourgify.” Draco heard Weasley’s slightly deeper and more perturbed voice as they came around the corner. Draco cast a weary look at the pair when they caught sight of him.

“Morning, Malfoy,” Harry said, inexplicably blushing. “Everything going well I expect?”

“Fine.”

“Good,” he answered, looking over to The Weasel and shifted uncomfortably. He walked up to Draco and leaned in close. “Just, um…you know. Just let me know if you need anything.”

Before Draco could blink Potter had scurried around the corning. Weasley gave him a look that was neither full of malice nor joy, nodded, and trotted off after Potter. He had no idea what Potter’s motives were, and why the other wizard was acting so strangely toward him. Did his hero complex extend far enough to include people who once tried to kill him and his friends? Draco couldn’t wrap his head around what Potter was up to, and he wasn’t fond of riddles, so he attempted to put it out of his mind and focus on his work.

  
“I trust you are well this morning, Mr. Malfoy?” Fleur Weasley asked, appearing at the top of a staircase next to him.

“Very, thank you. I enjoyed the accommodations,” Draco said, unsure of exactly how to be friendly, but desperate for a friend nonetheless.

“It’s no surprise, considering zat cesspool you were kept in. I’m shocked you’re not ill. But if you find you need anything, please let me know. I am your guardian for lack of a better word, and I take my charges seriously,” Fleur said, holding her delicate frame up regally.

“I feel well at the moment, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco answered, rendered nearly speechless for the second time that morning by the kind way everyone was acting toward him.

“Good, and I see you make good progress,” She smiled in satisfaction. “I’m glad you’re here to help. I just got in ze rest of my charges, and I can tell zey will not be nearly so skilled.”

Draco flinched at the thought of more people coming in, sharing his room, and likely terrorizing him. He couldn’t think of a single person in all of England who could possibly be his ally, and many who wanted him dead. Six weeks sitting in a damp cell with no one coming to your aid and telling you any news had made Draco even more paranoid, not to mention spending a year living under The Dark Lord.

“No one will hurt you here, Mr. Malfoy. I gave my word,” She said carefully. She came down the stairs and put her hand lightly on his shoulder. “I have been made to understand ze reality of your situation zees past few years, and I’m hoping zat you never have to encounter life like that again. Regardless of sides, zis war took a lot from us.”

Draco enjoyed the heavy, warm presence of her hand on him. He hadn’t had a friendly touch in weeks, since he last held onto his mother. He had to try very hard not to crumble under Fleur’s open blue gaze. He did manage to smile at her though, which is something he didn’t think he was still capable of doing. Regardless of riddles surrounding Potter’s involvement, he was better off than he hoped he could be.

But what in the world could Potter have said to this woman to make her act this way toward him? To make Weasley not attempt to pummel his face in and to make the Ministry inclined to give him leniency? All Draco could see was Potter’s face as Granger was lying unconscious on his floor, and wondered how anyone could let that kind of bitterness go. He knew he couldn’t.

((((((((((((((()))))))))))))))

The next few days passed with little fanfare. The new work release prisoners slept in Hufflepuff, but there were only five of them, and none of them wanted to bunk with him, so he enjoyed a room to himself. The two older women looked at him fearfully, and the three men, ranging from 22 to 50 from their looks, kept glaring, but no one raised a hand to him. He continued restoring and cataloging artifacts, and pretending that his eyes didn’t follow Potter whenever he was near.

Draco was just about to start working on a tapestry of Edgar the Elderly’s slaying of the possessed goat familiar when he heard one deep, choked sob. He tried to ignore it, to continue his work, but curiosity killed the kneazle, and Draco had to see who was around the corner. When he walked over to a second of wall that had completely fallen, the stored marred with blood, Draco began to back away.

Weasley was on his knees, touching the rocks and trying to hold back his cries. He had seen the ginger moron make many interesting faces, but he’d never seen the tall wizard crumble like that. He was by no means moved to comfort him, but was still very unsettled. He sighed in slight relief when he saw Potter and Granger come from the opposite direction.

“Oh Ron,” Granger whispered. “You really shouldn’t come here alone.”

Draco watched Granger and Potter kneel on either side of Weasley and stare up at the wall. He had no idea why this was significant, but all three of them had tears in their eyes. Draco was more than shocked to see Weasley finally fall to pieces and lean onto Granger. She held him up remarkably despite her delicate frame.

Potter patted Weasley’s back, met Granger’s eye, and backed away to leave them alone. He very nearly bumped into Draco as he turned the corner. His eyes were bloodshot and wide at catching Draco in his voyeuristic faux pas. He laughed awkwardly and wiped the tears from his face. Draco reached around his jeans pocket and pulled out a simple linen handkerchief.

“Thanks,” Harry sighed, running the entirety of the cloth over his face. He handed it back to Draco, and Draco accepted it without a bit of disgust. He felt the urge to close his hand around the cloth, but hastily shoved it into his pocket with a nod.

“I can’t help but notice that you are all crying at a wall,” Draco said quietly, not wanting to be heard by the couple across the way.

“It’s where Fred Weasley died during the war,” Potter said. “Sometimes I forgot how much that hurt all of us.”

“That’s awful.”

“I’m surprised you’re not celebrating the death of a Weasley,” Potter bit at him.

“I would not do that, especially not a genius like Fred Weasley,” Draco answered honestly, overtaken with a desire to put a hand on Har- Potter’s shoulder.

“He was certainly brilliant, but why are you agreeing with me on that?” Potter asked, the twinkle coming back to his eyes.

“Those Puking Pastilles got me out of a few unwanted dates with Pansy,” Draco said, almost smiling at the memory of Pansy’s worried voice outside of the bathroom as he vomited his apologies to her.

“I thought you and Pansy were a permanent little pure blood pre arranged match of perfection,” Potter said, bitterness in his voice that Draco couldn’t place.

“We were for a time, but I found I preferred Blaise’s arse to Pansy’s,” Draco said frankly. Before, he wouldn’t want anyone to know what his sexual preferences were, but at this point, what did he really have to lose?

Potter froze and then blushed. “Well then I guess it all worked out. How is Blaise?”

“Well, as to what you’re implying, I wouldn’t know. We never dated. In addition to that, I haven’t spoken to anyone since that battle. Not a soul until they pulled me out of my cell to come here,” Draco said, his voice quivering. He decided to turn back to his work.

Harry was silent for some time, but stayed near Draco and continued to work. Suddenly, Potter pulled a small box out of his pocket, enlarged it, and looked over at Draco. “Do you mind?” He asked. When Draco shook his head, Harry turned the dials and a melancholy tune and a strumming guitar began to fill the air.

“Hm, I never thought to bring some music.” Draco said, happy to have the distraction from the tense moment between himself and Harry.

“I can’t live without it any longer. During the war, Ron used to fiddle with it to listen for news. But before the war, I never go to hear too much music,” Harry said sadly. “Now that I can just listen to whatever I want whenever I want, I’m dragging around this little wireless like a security blanket.”

“I thought muggles had televisions and wirelesses in every room,” Draco said, trying not to find Harry’s newfound love for music endearing.

“They normally do, for the most part, but my aunt and uncle didn’t really see fit to give me entertainment while they kept me locked in the cupboard under the stairs,” Harry shrugged, turning back around to piece together a section of wall.

“They…wait. That’s a strange punishment for the hero of the wizarding world.”

“Well, first of all, I didn’t even know I was a wizard until Hagrid showed up on my 11th birthday. And second, my Aunt, Uncle and cousin were too busy hating me, and telling me I was worthless, and treating me like a slave to ever worship me for my past,” Harry explained, still not turning around.

“That’s…” Draco swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “That’s child abuse.”

“I didn’t know any other world, Draco. And besides, it got better after I started coming here,” Harry answered. His shoulders had gone stiff and there was a defensive tone to his voice.

Every apology Draco could think of was on his tongue, but he couldn’t find his words. He closed his eyes and tried to force away the images of Potter in his muggle clothes that were always too big for him, the way he’d flinch when people came too close to him at meals, and the dead look he always had on his face toward the end of the year. Draco was about to offer Harry some sort of comfort when he realized Harry had used his first name.

“You just called me Draco,” he whispered at the dark haired wizard’s back.

Harry turned and met Draco’s eyes, his blazing with something so passionate and startling that Draco gasped. Draco wrapped his fingers around his temporary wand, unsure of what Potter’s next move would be. However, just as soon the look was there, it was gone, and replaced with something warm and guarded.

“I suppose it’s about time we drop the animosity,” He answered shyly, turning back to his constructing spells.

“Agreed,” Draco answered to Harry’s back. He stood and stared longer than he should have, watching Harry’s head and hips sway with the gentle music.

(((((()))))))))))))))

It became apparent over the next twenty four hours that Draco wanted Harry Potter, and wanted him badly. He couldn’t help but watch Harry from the corner of his eye every time he passed, and Draco was beginning to feel he was being obvious. He couldn’t find any explanation for his feelings other than emotional turmoil setting on some sort of stress induced psychosis, so he just kept his distance from the dark-haired wizard as much as he could. In a castle as large as Hogwarts, it wasn’t hard.

When he got back to the Hufflepuff common room, as usual, the other work release prisoners avoided him, not even making eye contact. He didn’t acknowledge their cold indifference and they didn’t give him any problems. He sat down in a chair and reached nervously for The Daily Prophet. It had been months since he was able to read of any wizarding news. Toward the end, The Dark Lord didn’t allow anything but his own wishes to be heard or regarded in The Manor, and that included the daily news. Draco sat down, flipped open the page, and cried out in shock.

His mother’s regal visage was staring back at him, nodded slightly at the flash bulbs and moving down the marble floors of the Ministry of Magic resolutely and unashamed. Her picture was proceeded by an article making it clear that she was exonerated of all charges, her personal wealth not associated with his father was restored, and her safety guaranteed…by Harry Potter. Draco had known that Potter had worked to get him released, though he still didn’t understand why, but to free his mother like that, without so much as a demand for gratitude or attention sent Draco into yet another spiral of confusion.

“It’s true Malfoy,” The older prisoner sneered. “Your little butt buddy Potter got your whore of a mother off. I wonder if that’s because she was so good at getting him off. How else would you explain why death eater scum is on work release with us common thieves and that illustrious cunt you call a mother is out?”

Draco surged with anger and hit the much larger man square across the jaw. When the other prisoners began to rally around their fallen comrade, Draco ran out of the portrait, not even lamenting his cowardice, in desperate search to find Harry. He wanted answers once and for all. Denying every question, every feeling he had was getting him nowhere, and he was slowly going mad. He remembered pretending not to look at Harry in the seventh floor corridor, and headed up there as fast as he could.

When he got to the familiar wall concealing the unknowable room, Draco paced three times with only Harry’s face in his mind. The door appeared suddenly in the middle of the crumbling stone wall, and Draco went to open it. When his hand closed around the handle, he looked up and saw that the door had char marks. He began to tremble at the memory of the fire that nearly ate him alive. The fire that Harry pulled him from. The fire that took Vince.

He fell to his knees outside of the door, letting out a sob. Nothing made sense anymore. His mind went in too many different directions at the same time. He spent weeks wasting away, and months living in fear, and he had come out of the other side in confusion where nothing was exactly as he had left it. He couldn’t take one more second of painful memory and stark reminder. He gripped his hair and pressed his forehead against the door, the paper falling into his lap and the photograph of his mother gazing up at him with concerned longing.

A warm hand rested lightly on his shoulder and Draco flinched, turning around suddenly to be faced with Harry’s blazing green eyes. He didn’t pull away even when Draco pressed his back more firmly against the door.

“Draco? Is something wrong?” He asked, the earnest look on his face was enough to make Draco want to slap him, or kiss him, or kiss him while slapping him.

“You released my mother.” Draco whispered, his voice accusatory.

“The Ministry released her, I just spoke on her behalf,” Harry said, uncertainty furrowing his dark brow.

“Why are you doing all of this!” Draco shouted, jumping to his feet and pacing. “I don’t fucking understand what is in it for you. I tried to kill you. I let Death Eaters into the castle and maimed your best friend’s brother, your other best friend was bloody tortured in my god damned house, and my aunt killed your house elf. The man who killed your fucking parents lived under my roof for a year, and you release my mother from prison and get me switched over to an easier sentence. What the fuck do you want?!”

“Gods, Draco. I don’t want anything!” Harry shouted back, his voice strong and alarming.

“Yes you do! Nothing is for free! What is in it for you?” Draco yelled, waiting to hear what sort of humiliating payment he was meant to give. “I have no access to my fortune-“

“I’ve my own money! Do you have any idea at all who I am?” Harry yelled, getting so close to Draco he could feel the heat come off of Harry’s skin.

“You’re everyone’s favorite hero,” Draco sneered. Harry grabbed his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall. The pain in his back made everything more clear.

“I’m alive because of your mother. If you would have read the article, you would have known that. She defied Your Lord so that I could finish what I started. And she did it to find whether or not you were alive!” Harry yelled, suddenly backing away.

“He’s not my lord, he never was,” Draco whispered, his entire body shaking.

“I know that too. I was there, in the tower, the night Dumbledore was killed. You lowered your wand. You didn’t give me away when you could have. Given the chance, Draco, you chose against him,” Harry said, his voice choking in his throat.

“You were…I…” Draco was completely speechless. Electricity surged through his veins. He was confused, and Potter’s bullheaded answers were only making him angry. “Well what the fuck do you fucking want then!” Draco practically screamed, charging at Harry and forcing him to the opposite wall.

“I want life to make sense for once. I want my wasted years and my friend’s deaths to not be in vain. I want good to be rewarded and evil to be defeated. I just want the right thing to be done, for once,” Harry said, the genuine look on his face throwing a bucket of cold water over Draco’s rage. “I almost died, I was dead for a few moments, and I’m not letting this world waste it any longer.”

“How noble,” Draco whispered.

They stood there, frozen, with their eyes locked together in a stalemate punctuated by heavy breathing. Draco’s hands remained closed over Harry’s shoulders, and he flexed his fingers thinking of the muscularity hidden beneath his messy exterior. Their bodies were touching, and Harry shifted minutely. The effect was like fire. Draco licked his lips and Harry’s mouth crashed on his own. His eyes fell closed against his better judgment and he pressed his body against Harry and Harry against the wall.

There was a deep moan from Harry and Draco’s entire body could feel it. He had no idea how badly he wanted to melt under Harry’s touch, or Harry to melt under his, but now that he was facing the opportunity, he became completely single minded about it. There was no other place in the entire world that Draco felt more alive in that moment. He bit Harry’s neck and could feel himself nearly purring as the other wizard cried out.

“Want you so bad, Draco,” Harry panted against his ear. Harry’s hot breath was searing on Draco’s nerves.

“Please say my name again,” Draco moaned, desperate for as many parts of Harry as he could wrap his mind around.

“Draco,” Harry growled, flipping them over so Draco was pressed against the wall. He didn’t even flinch at being taken over. His knees began to tremble when suddenly Harry’s hardness pressed against Draco’s through their jeans.

“Oh gods,” Draco moaned, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck to hold himself up.

“Draco…you’re…I can’t believe…” Harry stuttered, giving up on talking altogether in favor of running his tongue all over the inside of Draco’s mouth. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“You’re snogging me, Potter,” Draco said, starting to get a little worried that he was about to be thrown aside. It wouldn’t have surprised him though.

“Call me Harry,” Harry said, kissing up the side of Draco’s jaw and pressing his hands to his back urgently. “Please.”

Draco wanted him too badly to question anything he was doing. He couldn’t fear rejection and humiliation when Harry’s insistent erection was rubbing up and down Draco’s. When Harry’s hands gripped Draco’s arse, they both gasped, and their breathing was rhythmic and desperate. Draco’s shaking fingers began to toy with the buttons on Harry’s jeans.

“Want you so bad, Harry,” Draco moaned.

“Fuck yes,” Harry answered undoing both of their jeans with his wand. “Want you too. Wanted you for so long.”

Draco froze, shocked. How long had Potter wanted him? Draco assumed that the moment when their lips touched was the moment Harry had started to want him. The thought of Harry staring after him, desiring him as much as Draco did was earth shattering. Draco reached down Harry’s pants and both of them cried out when Draco wrapped his hand around Harry’s surprisingly thick erection.

Harry’s head was thrown back and Draco buried his nose in the soft skin of Harry’s neck. He was thrusting against Harry’s groin even as his hand moved up and down over his hardness. He began to shake, and he thought he would come standing there without being touched. Harry’s body stilled and Draco pulled back.

Harry raised his hand and traced along the side of Draco’s face. He bit his lip to keep from leaning into his touch. His body shook with the effort. “I want to touch you, Draco.”

“Please,” he moaned, his voice catching in his throat.

Harry brought his hand to the wall beside Draco’s head and his other hand down around Draco’s cock. Draco buried his head in Harry’s shoulder and thrust into his touch. It had been so long since someone touched him that way, even a long time since he felt someone touch him with something less than malice that he almost wanted to weep. He just kept whispering Harry’s name over and over again.

He felt the warm flesh of Harry’s cock slide up against his own and Draco couldn’t take it anymore. He brought his hand over Harry’s strong grip and felt Harry’s dick pulsate. He came immediately, watching Harry’s green eyes roll back into his head before he finally let his world fade into a myriad of blackness and bursts of light.

Draco clung tightly to Harry as they slowly slid down the wall. When their breathing finally slowed, Draco pulled away and bravely met Harry’s eyes, challenging him to dish out any harsh reality he was so used to. Instead, Harry smiled shyly at him, blushing, and then quickly changing his mind and pulling Draco in for another kiss.

“I can’t believe this happened,” Harry whispered.

Draco froze, finding the entire thing unbelievable as well. He wanted Harry. He wanted to fall asleep right there and tell Harry everything he went through over the past year. He wanted desperately to just feel the same way a few more times before it was all taken away from him. But he knew better.

Draco was convinced he was some novelty. He wanted Harry so badly, and so viscerally, but he knew Harry would take it back. When all of the post war confusion had subsided, Harry would go on to play the role of the hero, and Draco would go on as the disgraced scion of an evil family. Nothing ever went right for him, and he was damned if he was going to be used and left to hang out to dry.

“I have to be back at ten,” Draco said suddenly. He hurried away before he could even hear from Harry…from Potter.

((((((((((_)_)))))))))))

He contacted Fleur Weasley first thing in the morning to ask her about any other restoration openings she had, and he was being readied to the English Countryside before he could blink. He folded a letter, addressed it to Harry, and left it with the kitchen elves.

_Harry,_

_It wouldn’t have worked out anyway._

_-Draco_

The letter was cowardly, but he couldn’t bring himself to say what he actually thought, and those words were as true as anything he could have put eloquently. In a fit of futility, he took off his silver signet ring, the only bit of his past he had managed to hang on to by sheer will, and he wanted Harry to have it. Draco knew he wasn’t turning back, but he couldn’t pull himself completely away either.

((((((()))))))))))

_yesterday seems like a life ago  
cause the one I love  
today I hardly know  
you I held so close in my heart oh dear  
grow further from me  
with every falling tear_

Glastonbury Tor was everything that Draco loved: old, regal, and steeped in a powerful and dark magical history. It’s widely known even in the muggle world that Arthur and Guinevere were married there, but the wizards keep it a precious secret that Merlin did most of his darkest magic in those stone walls. The war had taken many parts of it down, but it still stood like a beacon through magical Britain.

The place was perpetually cold and drafty, even in the early days of summer, but Draco relished the solitude of sharing the tower with only three other prisoners, older men that looked as though they had nothing to do with the war. He spent the day relaying ancient stones in Merlin’s hearth and trying to replicate strands of spells woven through the pieces. It was challenging, but it wasn’t distracting.

It had only been a few days, but he wondered if Harry was slowly coming out of his phase. It would have been embarrassing to have fallen at Harry’s feet, and even worse to be kicked away. Harry had to see the truth that this wasn’t anything more than a buildup of tension between them.

Draco was having a hard time lying to himself as he fingered the empty space where his ring used to be.

The most fascinating thing about the Tor was also the most frightening. Merlin and the wizards who inhabited this site after him had managed to create a series of tunnels below the structure that led to various other locations in the kingdom of Camelot. This was not uncommon; one only had to look to Hogwarts to see a similar action. But like Hogwarts, the Tor was ever-changing, and the various staircases and pathways would move without a moment’s notice. But unlike Hogwarts, no one knew where they would end up or how to get them out of dark dead ended wings in the bowels of the structure.

The workers at the Tor had coins in their pockets that they could activate to summon an auror detail if they got lost. Most of them didn’t want to get aurors involved, and would rather spend hours trying to find the way out than to call the people who had put them in the situation in the first place. This incensed Fleur Weasley, who had to rush over five times a day to search down her missing prisoners, but Draco admitted to enjoying seeing the little French woman’s temper get the better of her. All in all, his new post wasn’t terrible and he was surviving.

When Fleur Weasley came marching up the grassy hill for the third time that day, Draco just smiled and looked around, wondering who had gotten lost this time. She walked up right to him, however, and handed him a sheaf of papers. Draco opened them and nearly dropped them on the ground.

The paperwork consisted of official Ministry documents detailing the dates and times of his trial, as well as a probation form that would allow him complete and pure freedom provided he didn’t leave England before the initial date. Draco looked up at her with his mouth hanging open, and Fleur just looked back smugly.

“Can you please tell zee uzzer workers zat there is a Muggle music festival about to start, and we need to up the repelling charms?” She asked. Draco nodded, wondering where the other three blokes had gotten to. No one was able to leave the hill, so they can’t have gotten far. When he looked down at Fleur she was holding out a Ministry Red envelope.

“Zis is just temporary, but Kingsley tells me zat cases in which zee prisoner is granted probation even before ze trial almost always mean acquittal,” She said, smiling kindly at him.

“How is this possible?” Draco whispered, already knowing the answer. She just shook her head and smiled slightly.

“You’re very good at restorative magic, Draco. I’d be happy to write you a recommendation to work at an arts or antiquities gallery. Zere are many in France,” Fleur said, signing her name at the bottom of his probationary papers. “You can leave at the end of your shift.”

Draco just nodded. He had nowhere to go, and he was sure the Manor was not only uninhabited, but likely seized by the Ministry as it was the last known residence of The Dark Lord. He had friends, and one aunt that his mother’s family disowned ages ago. He’d have to go door to door like a beggar until he found someone who would take him in, but at least he’d be free. Draco resolved to find a place to sleep until he could get enough money to meet his mother wherever she was hiding. He began composing his letter to her in his mind.  


“Draco?” Fleur interrupted Draco’s thoughts. “He’s a good man who’s been through a lot. My family loves him and we just want him to finally be happy. He can be, you know.” She gave him a significant and cryptic look and was floating down the hill quickly, a wave of platinum hair and blue robes cascading over the rolling grass before he even had the good sense to play dumb about her statement.

“Getting’ released, eh?” A burly blonde haired gentleman whose name Draco never bothered to learn came from the shadows holding a large stone. Draco began to panic, but assumed that he was only restoring the rock.

“It seems that way. Mrs. Weasley would like us to replenish the Muggle repelling charms. Apparently-“

Draco was cut off as the large rock came down on his head and his world faded to black.

(((((((((())))))))))))

“I want an auror detail in there! Stop buzzing around and giving me excuses. Ze minister is a personal friend, and I think he would be most unhappy to hear of your incompetence! Zis is an emergency!” Fleur Weasley’s voice echoed through the halls of the auror department.

Harry and Ron were filling out preliminary paperwork to sign up for auror testing. Harry wanted to join as soon as he could, but Ron said he wasn’t quite ready to leave George alone yet. Just as they were signing up for a written exam time slot, they heard Fleur’s distinctive voice yelling in the lobby and Ron’s pale face grew even more pale as he leapt from his chair and ran toward her.

“Fleur! Fleur is it Bill?” Ron shouted, panicked. He looked ready to hear the worst, his most disturbing fears of losing another brother already playing out across his face.

“Bill is fine, cher,” Fleur whispered, taking a moment to calm herself and touch Ron’s shoulder. “I have an emergency with one of my prisoners and zis…zis swine won’t lift a finger to help me.”

Harry knew before he even asked, “Fleur, what’s going on?” He was clutching his wand inside of his robes.

“Draco is missing. I got zere and ze uzzer three were just standing around. Zey say zey don’t know where he is, but no one could have left through my wards. He’s trapped in one of zose shifting tunnels and I cannot find him by myself!” Fleur said, breathing heavily, her pale skin turning a dangerous shade of red.

“Draco?” Harry whispered. The past few days ran through his mind, and panic flooded his veins. He had given up on Draco before they even started anything, but the thought of something wrong, of that infinitesimal spark of home vanishing completely sent Harry into a shaking and raging determination. He hadn’t even realized he cried out until he felt Ron’s hand on his back.

“Harry?” He asked simply, his ruddy brows furrowed in concern. He just concentrated on Harry’s face for a moment; in that piercing way he looked at his chess board. Harry felt exposed and a little frightened. Suddenly, Ron’s face changed, like he had settled on his move.

“How can we help, Fleur?” Ron asked, drawing his wand.

Before Harry could blink, he found himself staring at the tall, imposing form of Glastonbury Tor. The sun was shining brightly, making the tower almost feel like it was bathed in fire. Below the hill, the fields were teeming with people, and Ron stood awestruck at the large crowd.

“It’s a music festival, ze Muggles cannot see us,” Fleur explained. She gestured over to the three currently bound men leaning against the Tor and Harry saw red.

He drew his wand and pressed it so hard against the nearest man’s neck that he started to make gagging noises. “Where the fuck is he?” Harry shouted.

“What did he offer you for all that special treatment? I’m starting to think maybe I should have made him pay for his freedom too,” The blonde haired man licked his lips and Harry hit him hard across the jaw, knocking his bound body to the ground.

“That Death Eater doesn’t deserve his freedom, and he gets it because what, he’s a pretty face? He has money?” Another prisoner piped up. “My family is either destitute or dead because of the Death Eaters, I’d rather stay in prison forever with blood on my hands than let one of them walk. “

“That’s not your decision to make,” Harry growled.

“And it’s yours, oh savior?” The final prisoner said, his dark eyes boring into Harry’s.

Harry felt dizzy. Everything that had gone through his head since he first saw Draco being taken away was coming into question by his own psyche. Why was he doing all of this for Draco? Why did he want Draco? Was he using his power to take something he wants? Harry gripped his wand hard and turned his head away from the on looking group of people in disgust.

“Mate?” Ron came up beside him, looking him in the eye with a flinty determination that Harry swore was a look stolen from Hermione. “What do you think you’re doing here? Why shouldn’t we just leave Draco for the aurors?”

“Because…” Harry was breathing heavily. “I just, I can’t…” He clenched his fists tightly. “I think I need him, Ron.”

“Whatever it is, Harry, you deserve it,” Ron said, shrugging. He walked toward the entrance of the Tor and looked back at Harry to follow.

((((((())))))))))

It had only been an hour, but as Harry rested against the steps of another endless corridor to catch his breath, it felt like eternity. Draco had to be somewhere in the structure, there was no way around it without Fleur being alerted, but they hadn’t even had a clue yet. Veritaserum wouldn’t work on the other inmates if the castle just kept changing on them. They just had to keep looking until they found it. Harry and Ron kept a string of magic tethered to each other, and to Fleur outside, and went their separate ways.

Just when Harry was about to call Ron back, he felt a ripple of electricity go through the line and followed it back to Ron. He gripped the line tightly as the room he was in shifted and made it out of the other side five feet from where Ron was standing. He rounded a corner to find a cell with the door blasted open.

“I’ll never get out,” Draco’s voice sounded shaky and hollow. “No one will come.”

“Um…yeah mate. Harry’s coming. You’ll see. Now how about we get on up and start walking back?” Ron’s voice chuckled nervously. He looked up and met Harry’s eyes, his desperate and confused.

“I’m here forever,” Draco groaned. “It’s so cold. No one will talk to me.”

The blonde wizard was hunched over his bent knees, rocking back and forth. Harry did his math, and Draco couldn’t have been in there for more than six hours, but he reacted like he had been there for six weeks. With that thought, Harry knelt down next to the other wizard.

“The door isn’t locked,” Harry whispered, reaching up to touch his back softly. “I’m here, and you can leave whenever you want. “

Ron took the hint and walked over to the gate, making a show of opening it up all the way. Draco jumped, and looked over at the open doorway and then back at Harry. His vision seemed to clear and his shoulders relaxed. He let out a sob, grabbed Harry’s arm for a moment, and then ran along the bright red line of magic. It was all Harry and Ron could do to keep up with him.

When Draco got out, he was panting and heaving deep breaths in the open air. Harry got to him first, and leaned over to make sure he was okay. By the time Ron came panting up the steps, Draco was standing up straight, and his expression was cold and blank. Harry could see his hands still trembling at his sides, however.

“Thank you Potter, Weasley. I hope I haven’t caused too much trouble, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco said, dusting himself off like he had just had a minor fall.

“Draco,” Harry croaked, looking up at him in desperation.

“Fleur, can I help you take these men back to the Ministry?” Ron asked somewhere in the distance. Harry heard them apparate away a few seconds later.

When Draco’s gray eyes met Harry’s, something inside of him broke. He rushed over to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him with every single last shred of life he had. For a moment, Draco just stood there, but Harry was insistent. The second Draco’s body began to melt to his Harry pulled Draco against him and wrapped his arms around his back.

Draco reached up and gripped Harry’s robes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Draco’s warm breath was against Harry’s neck.

The music started playing in the fields below, and Harry was pleased to find that while the Muggles may not be able to see them, but he could certainly still hear them play. A man was standing in front of the microphone with an acoustic guitar, and the beauty of the lyrics seemed to float in the air towards Harry.

Harry just pulled back and pressed a hand to the side of Draco’s face.

“How is this happening?” Draco asked, gripping Harry’s hand on his face. “How is anything real anymore?”

“I don’t know. All I know is I’m here, and you’re safe, and I want you,” Harry whispered, feeling so certain leaned up and kissed Draco again, softly.

“I want you too. I need you, Harry. I just…” Draco kissed Harry again, his hands going to Harry’s hair. “But you know the old lyric: ‘Nothing Gold Can Stay.”?

_further along we just may  
but for now it's just another lonely day_

“Then let’s just stay here for a while and see what happens,” Harry said, kissing Draco lightly on the neck and closing his eyes to better hear the music.

“Mmmm,” Draco answered, running his hands up and down Harry’s back.

Harry decided he could drown in Draco’s arms and die a happy man. He was slightly taller, and his long arms seemed to weave in and out of Harry’s body. He kissed Draco hard, throwing every promise he was too afraid to speak and every word he was too afraid to utter through a force behind his teeth and let his tongue dance in and out of Draco’s mouth.

When Draco’s hips lifted up and he felt the other man’s hardness brush against his own aching cock, Harry cried out and drew his wand. He quickly cast the spells he had heard Hermione cast so much when they were camping, and chuckled to himself when he finished.

“Something funny?” Draco asked, quirking his eyebrow and pursing his lips.

“I just never thought I’d be casting those spells for this purpose.”

((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))

“Yes, but have you ever thought any of this up, really?” Draco said, and he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks when Harry just looked at him frankly. “Well in that case.”

Draco reached up and unclasped Harry’s robes, unbuttoning Harry’s shirt and trailing his fingertips down the slight smattering of hair there and trying not to whimper with need. Harry’s hips thrust against his and Draco couldn’t help but reach down and run his palm over the bulge in Harry’s jeans. Harry swore and buried his face in Draco’s neck. Draco reached down and gripped Harry’s arse hard.

“Fuck that,” Harry suddenly growled. He pulled Draco’s shirt hastily over his head and hastily shoved Draco back to the grass. “I don’t think I can hold back any longer.”

“That was you holding back?” Draco whispered, arching his back as one of Harry’s teeth closed over his nipple. Harry paused at the clasp of Draco’s trousers and looked up. His green eyes blazed white hot, but he looked at Draco carefully, asking an unspoken question. Draco just laid against the cool grass and thrust his hips up at Harry.

Harry pulled Draco’s trousers down and Draco’s swollen cock bounced free. Before Draco could register what was happening, Harry’s mouth engulfed his cock and he gripped Harry’s hair tightly. “Oh gods, Harry. I’ll never last long this way.”

“Good, I want to see you come. I want to taste you,” Harry answered, and Draco’s mind when completely free of all thought that didn’t have to do with Harry Potter’s mouth. Harry’s hand lifted and pressed up one of Draco’s knees before going back down the inside of his thigh. When one of Harry’s fingers ran over his sensitive hole, moving gently in a promise of what was to come, he came, gripping the grass tightly and calling out Harry’s name.

Harry kissed back up Draco’s chest, and when Draco tasted himself on Harry’s lips, he could feel himself already getting hard again.

“Draco, I want…can I…” Harry’s voice shook and his hardness pressed urgently in Draco’s crevice.

“Harry please,” Draco cried, opening his legs. “I want everything.”

“Lubricus,” Harry whispered the spell and Draco’s stomach clenched at the thought of what he was about to do.

He was no virgin. After all, Slytherins loved to experiment. But he was pretty sure, considering Harry’s life over the past few years, that he was. He looked up to the dark haired wizard and gave him one last chance. He waited to hear him back out, to hear him run away in fear, but Harry’s hands just found their way back toward Draco’s arse.

When one of Harry’s fingers entered Draco, his cock filled back up and he could feel his body tense around Harry’s flesh. Harry moaned deeply and pressed another finger inside of Draco, stretching him and making him cry out Harry’s name. When Harry crawled on top of Draco backlit by the setting sun and smoldering with intensity, he raised his knees on either side of Harry’s narrow, muscular body and pressed toward his thick cock.

“Fuck,” Draco croaked as Harry entered him. The dark-haired man had buried his face in Draco’s neck, nibbling at his earlobes and whispering worshipful and nonsensical phrases in Draco’s ear. Harry was big, and Draco had to hold him still for a moment as he adjusted to the intrusion.

“Draco, you’re so beautiful. You’re so perfect. I can’t believe this is happening.” Harry moaned, his hips starting to move back and forth slightly.

“Believe it, and move,” Draco groaned, arching his back.

Harry began to thrust into him faster and faster with Draco’s encouragement and please. Soon, Harry found an animalistic rhythm, gripping Draco’s thighs over his shoulders and thrusting into him with abandon. Draco could hear endearments falling from his lips, even as his mind went completely blank and his second orgasm overtook his body. He felt Harry’s release fill him and he pulled the Boy Who Lived against his chest, holding on tightly until their hearts slowed and their breathing quieted.

In the afterglow, Draco could hear the lonely guitar and the melodic voice once again. The crowd below was completely quiet, most likely due to the charms, but the music was clear and enchanting. Harry sat up and pulled his trousers back on after he spelled them both clean. Draco echoed his movements, and made to stand up, to get back to the rest of their lives.

He looked over at Harry, and his eyes were closed, like he was looking at a soothing light. His head swayed slightly and his lips bent into a soft smile. Draco moved closer to him and brought his hand to Harry’s bare back. Harry opened his eyes and looked at Draco slowly, as if he were looking at something precious. Suddenly, everything Draco had to do, all the steps he had to take to get his life back odn track from that moment forward seemed possible.

Because Harry was there, and despite nothing ever being promised or pledged, he knew that he always would be.


End file.
